The same collection of poems, taking it slowly, reading it since fall, not wanting it to end. And if only I could get a pinch of Carver in my work, that was the stuff! Even a shake could transform me.

I was there and not, two places at the same time. The first awareness of that division, like the divider in a cab separating the front from the back. It was down, and I could see through, but not always hear.

And why were people watching Friends again?! Like some deep, saccharine need it filled and we all deeply craved. To patch the holes in our hearts. And what little we knew then! Less wise, happier still.

If only we could transform ourselves to those far away people, there. Easier, better, than having to confront the hard work that waits for us inside.

Categories: identity, prose, technology, writing

Tags: creative nonfiction, identity, Memoir, mid-life crisis, pacific northwest, prose, Raymond Carver, William Pearse writer